Unusual Heritage
by Ildera
Summary: IT'S FINISHED! WAYHEY! 19 years ago, legolas agreed to marry a girl who was then hidden in the human world. Now she's back, and not too sure of what's going on! LOC. PLZ RR!
1. Awakening

Hey there! I hope you like this, it's my first attempt at a LotR fic so please, be brutal!  
  
R/R - I need your thoughts, your criticism, your flames! Roast me over a slow burning fire, I don't care, just review me PLEASE!  
  
Anyway, usual rigmarole - that which you recognise does not belong to me, and that which you don't does. If you want it, you have to ask nicely. All together now - ALL HAIL TO THE MASTER OF MODERN FANTASY LITERATURE, MR J.R.R.TOLKIEN!  
  
Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin . . .  
  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
  
Unusual Heritage  
  
  
  
Blinking in the spring sunshine, she rolled over and yawned, stretching. Glancing at her clock, Ann groaned, seeing the digits bearing the legend 7:06 A.M. She snuggled down into the covers, trying to recapture the drowsiness that led to sleep. Vaguely she heard the doorbell ring, and her father running downstairs, grumbling about inconsiderate paperboys.  
  
He opened the door, and a shout of absolute terror made Ann sit bolt upright. She shot out of bed, and out of her door, peering over the banister with her mother. What they saw made them gasp in horror. Her father lay in a pool of blood, a blade protruding from his chest.  
  
Standing over him were two grotesque creatures, dripping with sweat. Their skin was a dark greenish black, gnarled and tough. They stood well over seven foot tall, dressed in leather armour, and carrying wicked looking swords, one of which was still stuck in her father's chest. Ann's mother pushed her back into her bedroom, her eyes strangely calm and luminescent, with an injunction to get out if she could.  
  
'Whatever happens, Ann, don't let the orcs find you.'  
  
Ann heard her run down the stairs and the dull crack as the orcs broke her neck. Ann felt sick. Her head swam with nauseating dizziness, as she comprehended the murder of her family. Straining her ears, she heard footsteps on the stairs, and a harsh voice say,  
  
'Find the girl.'  
  
Ann stumbled over to the window, looking out. There were more of the orcs outside, watching the house. She spun around, hearing someone outside her door. Looking around wildly, she dove under her bed, knowing it was only a matter of time before she was found. Stifling the sobs that rose in her throat, she watched in terror as the door opened. The orc stepped in, looking around with interest. His sword dripped blood onto the floor, filling the room with a nauseating smell. Ann tried hard not to breathe, her green eyes wide with fear.  
  
The orc knelt, and looked at her, grinning maliciously. It stood and snaked a hand under the bed, grasping a handful of her black hair and dragging her bodily out of the room, down the stairs. It joined the others, where she was bound with rough cords, picked up and slung over a shoulder. Ann tried hard not to look at the bodies slumped on the floor. Tears stung her eyes, as the orcs ran down the road, growling and slashing at anyone who tried to stop them.  
  
In the distance, she could hear sirens, but knew they were already too late. The orcs leapt off the bridge as they crossed it, disappearing in mid- air, taking Ann with them.  
  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
  
Ann swallowed the sobs that threatened to break from her. It had been days since her abduction from her home and the murder of her parents. The orcs had been slowly tightening the cords that bound her until they cut into her white skin, enjoying her gasps of pain.  
  
She was frozen, being dressed only in her pyjamas, and her feet were cut and bruised from having to walk barefoot over rocks and bracken. Her hair was matted, and she hadn't washed or bathed in days. The orcs took pleasure in her discomfort, knowing that, as long as she was alive when they reached their destination, they wouldn't be punished. She had tried pleading with them to let her go, but they had just laughed in her face, breathing their foul stench over her.  
  
Since they had entered the woods, they would brook no noise, and any sound was rewarded with a kick or a punch. Ann had noticed, too, certain changes happening to her body as they traversed the forest. She had become slimmer, more toned, her hair and nails longer and neater. Something was happening to her ears as well, though she didn't know what, since she couldn't see or touch them. Her spots had gone completely, leaving her with flawless white skin, save for the bruises inflicted by the orcs.  
  
Her thoughts stopped dead in their tracks as an arrow whistled out of the trees, hitting the leader full in the forehead. He fell, and the orcs howled in fury, forming a circle around their captive, dumped unceremoniously on the wet ground. More arrows flew at them from every direction, causing orcs to fall dead around her. Their attackers stepped out into the sunlight. All Ann could see were silvery green boots, which moved fast as they dodged the blows of the orcs. Finally, the last orc fell, crying out in some grotesque language of it's own.  
  
Ann looked up into the concerned faces of several elves, all of whom had blonde hair and carried bows. The nearest knelt beside her, cutting her bonds and pulling her upright. She gazed into his grey eyes, and sobbed in terror, finally feeling safe. He swept her up into his arms, cradling her against him. They took her into the trees, the opposite direction to the one the orcs had been heading. As they walked, Ann felt herself falling asleep, protected by people she had never even met before. As the darkness consumed her, she was struck by how beautiful the woods had become, now that she was safe. 


	2. Truths

Ann rolled over and stretched, feeling the warm breeze caress her skin. Slowly she opened her eyes, and the full horror of what had happened to her hit, overwhelming her. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks as she stuffed her fist into her mouth, determined not to be heard. Her mother and father, both dead, killed by orcs. Brought to a world where she had changed, rescued by elves, and now . . . where was she?  
  
Wiping her eyes she sat up, clutching the silken sheets about her naked form. She was in a large room, with tall windows on three sides, looking out over a forest that shone in glorious shades of silver, green and gold. Seeing the white dress laid out for her, she pulled it on, revelling in its softness. Her feet ached where they'd been cut, and her wrists were sore, but Ann felt at peace in this strange place.  
  
She looked at herself in the mirror, astonished at what she found there. She was as slim as she had always wanted to be, her supple form showing a grace as she moved that she had never before possessed. Her jet-black hair fell below her waist, falling about her shoulders in loose curls. Lifting a hand to her ear, Ann gasped. Her ears had grown pointed, making her . . . an elf. And her eyes . . . where they had simply been green before, they now shone from within, a deep haunting green that reminded her of the woodland outside her window.  
  
Slipping her feet into soft slippers, she wandered over to the windows, gazing out at the forest in wonder. There were other trees that stood to the height of the one in which she had spent the night, with staircases running around them, and rooms like her own, jutting out over the forest floor. She could see elven forms walking beneath the trees, singly or in groups, their clothes blending them expertly into the foliage.  
  
A knock at the door made her spin around, her eyes betraying her fear. A young elf maiden with a wealth of golden blonde hair slipped in, nodding gently to the frightened girl by the window.  
  
'Good morning, my lady,' she said, drawing Ann to a chair beside the mirror. 'I am Coeil, your handmaiden.'  
  
She sat her down, and began to brush her black hair, her light fingers making quick work of the heavy ringlets. Ann looked at her in the mirror.  
  
'Where am I?' she asked in a hushed whisper.  
  
Coeil smiled.  
  
'You are in Lorien, my lady,' she replied. 'Lady Galadriel has expressed a wish to meet with you, and so you are to be made ready for her.'  
  
'Lorien? As in Lothlorien? Middle Earth?'  
  
The elf nodded, a little confused by Ann's questions. Ann's mind raced. She was in Middle Earth? But that was just a story, wasn't it? It had to be. But then, how could she explain what had happened to her? Why?  
  
She felt something circling her head. Looking into the mirror, she saw that her hair was now caught back with a copper circlet, the rich red setting off the deep black of her hair. Coeil stood her up and led her down the staircase to the forest floor, where a man and woman waited patiently for her.  
  
They turned to greet her, their features wreathed in smiles. Ann realised, dredging up her knowledge of the books, that they must be Celeborn and Galadriel, the rulers of the elven community in Lorien. She curtseyed gracefully, hoping they would answer some of her questions.  
  
'Of course we shall, child,' the Lady said, coming forward to take her arm. 'You deserve to know of your heritage.'  
  
Lord Celeborn beckoned them over to a secluded bench, where they could talk undisturbed. Ann gazed up at Galadriel a little fearfully.  
  
'How did you . . .?' she began, and found herself unable to finish.  
  
'My wife has many gifts, Lady Aniarel,' Celeborn told her, his smile wry. 'The best known of them is her ability to hear a person's thoughts.'  
  
Ann blinked.  
  
'What did you call me?'  
  
'Aniarel,' he repeated. 'It is your name, my lady.'  
  
'No, it isn't,' she corrected him. 'My name is Ann, and I'm still not sure whether I'm being taken for a ride here.'  
  
Galadriel looked at her sadly.  
  
'Then you shall know all, child,' she said, motioning her husband to leave them. This was something Ann was going to have to face, preferably without an audience. Celeborn bowed to them, and left. Galadriel turned to the bewildered girl, who gazed up at her expectantly.  
  
'Know then, child, that you are Aniarel of Lorien, daughter of Jenien and Licomias. On the eve of your birth, word reached us of a threat in the East, a threat that was directed at you, an unborn infant. The borders of Lorien were attacked with increasing frequency and violence in their attempts to capture you. It was decided that you and your family should be hidden, far from the prying eyes of the evil ones, among the humans in the land you know as Earth. Your parents took you there, vowing to protect you with their lives if the need arose. They took human names, Jennifer and Luke, shortening your own to Ann. You were not to know of your elven heritage until you returned to us, here in the Golden Wood. And returned you have.'  
  
She stopped, watching a myriad of emotions flicker across Ann's face. The girl had seen all that had been described to her every night, in a dream, repeated since her eighteenth birthday.  
  
She was stunned, thrown off balance by the truth as it mercilessly tore down barriers erected for her protection. Her mind was swamped, as memories of the Golden Wood, playing by Galadriel's mirror, pulling Celeborn's hair, her parents' love, all flooded over her. No wonder she felt at peace here, Ann realised. She had come home.  
  
Tears began to flow, tears for her family, killed so cruelly, and her lost memories. Galadriel wrapped her arms about the shocked girl and rocked her to and fro, as the burdens of a lifetime spent amongst others who were not of her kind were lifted from the fragile form.  
  
Gradually the sobs died down, and Aniarel lifted her head from Galadriel's shoulder. The Lady smiled down at her tear stained face, brushing away an errant strand of hair.  
  
'Should you ever have a problem, little one, you must come to me.'  
  
'You said I would know all, my lady,' Aniarel said softly. 'What of the threat in the East?'  
  
Galadriel sighed, and stepped away, looking out across her land with an expression of deep sadness on her beautiful face.  
  
'The threat has not subsided, child, and we cannot send you back, since they now know where they can find you. We must hasten that which they wish to prevent, to ensure your safety.'  
  
Aniarel rose and stood beside her, her fine features puzzled.  
  
'What is it they wish to prevent?'  
  
'Your marriage, little one,' Galadriel told her, seeing the shock register on her young companion's face. Aniarel drew in a deep breath, her mind reeling.  
  
'Marriage?'  
  
Galadriel smiled at her, hoping this would not come as too much of a shock.  
  
'When you were born, you were promised to a prince of Mirkwood, the forest to the North of here. When we cast the spells to divine what threatened you, we discovered that it was your union that the orcs wished to prevent. The elves of Mirkwood were sworn to silence when you were sent away. Word has already been sent to them of your return. Legolas comes to claim you within the week.'  
  
Aniarel sat down suddenly, her rosy cheeks white with shock.  
  
'Legolas?' she whispered. 'I am to be married to Legolas?'  
  
'What do you know of him?' Galadriel asked, concerned for her young friend.  
  
'He was a member of the Fellowship,' Aniarel stuttered, her breath coming in short gasps. 'And good friends with Gimli, the dwarf from the same quest.'  
  
She looked up at the Lady, who smiled again, glad to see that she knew of the One Ring, and the quest to destroy it. Galadriel took pity on her, and drew her close, letting the warmth of her love flow over the frightened little girl. Aniarel relaxed into the gentle embrace, reminded of her mother and the home she had known before the harsh reality of Earth. As Galadriel held her in her arms, the little elf maiden acknowledged her heritage, and accepted her fate.  
  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
  
An unlikely group rode through Fangorn, chatting and laughing amongst each other. Ahead of the others, a smaller troupe walked. An elf, a dwarf, four hobbits, and a man. They were what was left of the Fellowship of the Ring, having lost Boromir early in the quest, when the Fellowship was broken. Gandalf had been unable to join them, his services needed in the south. Their families rode behind them, letting them walk together for the first time in four years.  
  
They were currently engaged in teasing the elf, Legolas, about his upcoming wedding. He was increasingly worried about it, and his protestations of ignorance of his future wife just fuelled the light-hearted taunts his friends threw at him.  
  
'Come along, my friend,' Gimli teased, 'surely you know what she looks like!'  
  
Legolas gave the dwarf a look, and sighed when he laughed.  
  
'The last time I saw her, Gimli, she was a baby,' he explained for the umpteenth time. The dwarf guffawed with laughter, accusing him of cradle snatching. Legolas gave up and strode on ahead, shaking his head. Aragorn chuckled quietly, holding Merry and Pippin back, as Sam ran after the distressed elf.  
  
'Sam'll sort him out, don't worry,' he told them. 'Gimli! Leave the jokes for a while, hey?' The dwarf bowed to him, a huge grin on his bearded face as he resumed his pace, talking to Frodo.  
  
Sam caught up with Legolas a little way ahead of them. The elf looked stricken. His hands fell limp at his sides, and he walked without the spring in his step that marked him out from so many of his kind. He really was scared about his forthcoming marriage. Sam cleared his throat, jumping back when Legolas turned on him.  
  
'If you're here to tease me, Samwise Gamgee, don't even think about it! I've had it up to here with Gimli's misplaced sense of humour!'  
  
He took in the startled expression on the hobbit's face.  
  
'Oh, I'm sorry, Sam,' he sighed, putting his hand on the hobbit's shoulder. 'I'm just a little too worked up about this. I shouldn't have shouted, I'm sorry.'  
  
Sam grinned suddenly.  
  
'Don't worry,' he told his friend. 'I was terrified before my wedding too, and I've known Rosie since we were children! It's natural.'  
  
'But most men have at least seen what their bride looks like, haven't they?' Legolas threw up his hands, bringing them down hard against his thighs. 'I am going to be nervous wreck until I see her, Sam. What if she doesn't like me? What if she hates me?'  
  
His face took on an aghast expression.  
  
'What if I don't like her? I'll have to spend all the ages linked to someone I detest . . . oh, dear.'  
  
Sam's eyebrows had slowly risen throughout this little tirade, returning to their rightful place as Legolas looked at him helplessly. The little hobbit rose to the occasion.  
  
'Stop worrying,' he told his friend in a firm tone of voice. 'It'll all turn out for the best, just you wait and see. But if you start feeling sorry for yourself without having ever seen the girl, I'll give the hiding of your life, Legolas Greenleaf!'  
  
Legolas looked surprised.  
  
'Don't judge her on what you don't know, judge her on what you do know,' Sam scolded, wondering why he was defending an elf he'd never even heard of until a week ago. 'Do you know if she's ugly?'  
  
Legolas glanced down at his little friend, and sighed.  
  
'No.'  
  
'Do you know if she's cruel?'  
  
'No.'  
  
'Do you know how she's going to feel about you before you've even met?'  
  
'No.'  
  
'Well, there you are, then.'  
  
Sam looked up at Legolas with a self-satisfied grin on his round face. The elf wore an expression of profound relief.  
  
'You're right, Sam, I'm being unfair,' he agreed, patting the hobbit's shoulder. 'She's probably just as scared as I am, isn't she?'  
  
'Yes. Even if she is ugly, cruel, and hates you with every ounce of her living essence.' Sam grinned up at his friend, who sighed in mock frustration, and laughed aloud. This would be a wedding to remember. 


	3. First Impressions

Aniarel sat on the steps by the Mirror, watching the children play. She loved to sit here, letting the memories wash over her. Another time she would have been down there, playing with them, but she had been told that the wedding party had been sighted and would arrive at some point today. Her spirits were low with stress. Coeil was sat beside her.  
  
'Have you ever seen the prince, Coeil?'  
  
'Never, Aniarel, though I have visited Mirkwood many, many times,' her friend told her, knowing why the talk had turned to such things.  
  
'What if he doesn't like me?' Aniarel whispered, looking frightened. Coeil laughed and captured her friend's hands in her own, turning to look into her eyes.  
  
'Aniarel, in the time you've been with us, I don't think you've met a single elf who didn't like you,' she grinned. 'Even Haldir goes weak at the knees when you smile at him,' she added, sighing theatrically.  
  
The two girls giggled wickedly. Haldir was the captain of the elves that guarded Lorien, and had been the one to carry Aniarel home from the orc encampment. He had been constantly at her side since she had awoken, and she knew him better than any other did. She also knew that Coeil had fallen for him, but could not pluck up the courage to speak to him. She couldn't even meet his eyes without blushing.  
  
A step on the stair behind them made them turn. Haldir smiled grimly down at them, bowing to Aniarel. Coeil blushed and ducked her head.  
  
'My lady, Legolas of Mirkwood has arrived.'  
  
Her heart clenched in fear. With no outward sign of her tension, she rose softly and thanked him, allowing a small smile to play on her lips as she heard him say,  
  
'Weak at the knees, Coeil?'  
  
Aniarel ran up the stairs of the Great Tree, determined to catch a glimpse of Legolas before she had to face him. She saw the families of the Fellowship crowding around Celeborn. The dwarf must be Gimli, and the dark haired elves, Elrond, and his daughter, Arwen. But she could not see any sign of the elf described to her.  
  
Galadriel coughed gently, drawing the girl's attention back inside the room. Aniarel curtseyed, trying to quell the rising panic that threatened to overwhelm her. The Lady came forward, resting her hands on the girl's shoulders.  
  
'Will you come with me to greet them, child?'  
  
Aniarel sighed.  
  
'I may as well get it over with,' she smiled, a hint of hysteria in her eyes. Galadriel led her down to the happy group, who turned and bowed to them.  
  
Aniarel gasped lightly, her eyes wide with shock. Legolas stood beside Gimli, there was no mistaking him. His tall frame was bent in a deferential bow to the Lady of the Wood, his eyes downcast. Pale blonde hair fell about his shoulders, tied and braided in the way of the Woodland Elves. She had never dreamed he would be so handsome. She felt her stomach sink. How could someone like him ever want someone like her?  
  
Galadriel smiled at her guests, remaining a little way in front of the reluctant bride.  
  
'Arise, my friends, there is no need to stand on ceremony,' she bade them, watching as they straightened. 'You have come to us to celebrate a joyous occasion, one that should not be marred with formality.'  
  
Thranduil strode forward and kissed her hand, his blue eyes twinkling with suppressed mirth.  
  
'Well then, my lady, where is she? My son is almost frantic for news of her.'  
  
Galadriel smiled, and stepped back a little way, revealing Aniarel.  
  
'This, my lord, is Aniarel of Lorien.'  
  
Legolas' eyes fell on the small figure standing behind the Lady. His breath caught in his throat, as she looked at him with clear green eyes, that shone with an unearthly light. Dark hair tumbled in heavy ringlets about a delicate face that seemed unable to look away from his. Not that he would wish her to. He felt a deep calm descend upon him as he gazed at her, pushing all his doubts aside.  
  
Aniarel blushed, her fair skin burning with embarrassment. She was more beautiful than he could have imagined, and yet, there was a childlike air around her, a feeling of innocence he had never encountered in an elf before. He felt his fists clench as he noticed a large bruise on her cheek. She curtseyed gracefully to him, her willowy form bending like the boughs of a tree before the wind.  
  
Gimli nudged him sharply in the thigh, and he dropped into a bow, his cheeks crimson with shame for having forgotten. He was vaguely aware of Galadriel speaking, though what she spoke of, he could not tell. His attention was fixed on the vision before him. Thranduil clapped him on the shoulder, smashing into his reverie.  
  
'Come along, Legolas,' he said, pulling his son away from the little she-elf, 'we should get settled. Bring your packs. You can speak to the young lady later.'  
  
Legolas stumbled along with his father, casting glances over his shoulder at Aniarel, who watched him go with an awed expression. Galadriel wrapped an arm about her shoulders and drew her away, leaving her with Coeil to prepare for the evening banquet. 


	4. Confidences

'For crying out loud, son, stand still!'  
  
Legolas stopped pacing the hallway and looked at his father, his face a mask of panic. He had not had a chance to speak with Aniarel since seeing her earlier that day, and was anxiously awaiting her now. Haldir had come to him, requesting that he and his father join the lady and Elrond, who was to be acting in place of her father, at the doors to the Great Hall.  
  
Legolas had been saddened on hearing of Jenien and Licomias' deaths. They had seemed so excited and proud of their child, when he had agreed, on a whim, to marry her when she came of age. He hoped he was worthy of her.  
  
They were to enter together and speak the words of betrothal before Celeborn and Galadriel. The wedding itself was to be in a week's time, to let them get to know one another a little. He ran his hands over his dark blue tunic in panic. What if she didn't want him?  
  
Voices drew their attention to the base of the Great Tree, Thranduil grasping his son's shoulders to keep him still. Elrond led Aniarel across the grass, feeling her grip tighten on his hand as they neared the waiting elves. Legolas swallowed, and bowed to her, extending a hand toward her. Aniarel took it, smiling uncertainly up at him. Clothed in a gown of pale blue, she looked radiant, if a little scared. He smiled down at her, feeling her tense slightly. As the doors opened, Elrond and Thranduil fell in behind them, hiding their smiles.  
  
The elves sang an ancient song of joy, as they made their way up onto the dais. Holding each other's hands, Aniarel was surprised to feel Legolas' hands shake a little as he began his betrothal vow. She gazed up into his deep blue eyes, wondering how she was going to survive being married to him. He was obviously a handsome man, and the thought that he would remain loyal to someone like her was laughable, so she thought. He would take other lovers, and Aniarel felt that it would tear her apart.  
  
Despite these melancholy whispers, she found that her voice was quite steady, belying a frightened child in a woman's body. She was, after all, only nineteen, and Coeil had mentioned that Legolas was over five centuries old. He must have seen her fear in her eyes, since he leant forward slightly, and murmured,  
  
'Uuma dela, lirimaer [don't worry, lovely one].'  
  
Aniarel started, and would have fallen from the step on which she was stood, had he not caught her, his hands grasping her about the waist. She had understood him! How? She didn't know Elvish . . . did she? Lovely one? Legolas was gazing down at her, the concern in his eyes mirrored in the faces of the elves gathered with them. She shook her head with a smile, and pushed away from him, facing Elrond and Thranduil. Together they laid the blessing on the match, and the summons was given for the meal to begin.  
  
Elrond drew Aniarel to her seat beside Galadriel, where the Lady filled her in on some of the finer points of her memory, like her ability to understand and speak most elven dialects, having understood what had made her small companion stumble off the dais. Watching the prince of Mirkwood as he laughed with his friends, keeping one eye on his new fiancé, Galadriel gave Aniarel a little advice.  
  
'You have a saying on Earth, 'don't judge a book by it's cover', yes?'  
  
The young elf nodded, her eyes wide. Galadriel smiled.  
  
'You should apply it to the prince,' she said, noting the shock on Aniarel's face. 'He may not take another lover, child. There is always the chance that he will love you. Do not let your heart be troubled over matters that are out of your hands.'  
  
She ran a hand gently down the girl's cheek, willing the fear to pass. Aniarel smiled gratefully at her, and returned to her meal, casting shy glances at the table opposite, where Legolas and Frodo were engaged in a lively discussion.  
  
He must have felt her gaze on him, as he threw her a dazzling smile, causing her to blush scarlet and duck her head. Galadriel and Thranduil exchanged glances, turning away with smiles of their own.  
  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
  
Legolas watched the dancers, feeling more at peace than he had for the last week. He still couldn't believe that the marriage he had secretly feared for the last nineteen years was only a week away, and the doubts that had plagued him had flown. He smiled as he watched his father swing Aniarel around the dance floor, keeping that shy smile on her face with his cheerful talk.  
  
Legolas had already danced with her, several times, and sighed at the memory of her held in his arms, smiling up at him. She had relaxed somewhat after he'd stumbled over his own feet, laughing at himself for not concentrating on the steps. He could still feel her tiny hands clutching his tunic sleeves, her arms not being long enough to comfortably rest her hands on his shoulders. They hadn't spoken, simply gazing into each other's eyes as they swayed in time to the music.  
  
The music stopped, and Thranduil returned his partner to Galadriel and Celeborn, laughing with his old friends, as Aniarel slipped away. She was breathing deeply, her cheeks flushed from her exertions. A smile came to her lips, as she remembered some of the stories Thranduil had told her about his son. He really was very charming. Each member of the Fellowship had danced with her, even the hobbits. She had spoken at some length with Arwen and Eowyn, both of whom had promised to speak with her again before the wedding, having sensed how frightened she was. Now she felt just a little overwhelmed by it all.  
  
Slipping out through the great doors, Aniarel heaved a sigh of relief, feeling the warm breeze cool her skin. She walked slowly through the trees, coming to a halt by a waterfall. She had seen and heard so many things tonight, it was almost too much to take in.  
  
But she found her thoughts dwelling on the dance. The way he had held her, so sure of himself. She'd had one bad moment, when he leant towards her. Thinking he was going to kiss her, she'd tried to pull back, but thankfully he had tripped over his own feet, and stumbled upright, his eyes laughing. Her heart began to pound, she was so captivated by him. His eyes were wonderful. They really were the windows to his soul. Every emotion he felt was displayed in them, and broadcast to whoever thought to look.  
  
Aniarel sat beside the pool, running her fingers over the rippling water. A soft step made her look up, and she gasped, standing up so quickly she almost fell. Legolas stepped forward and caught her again, holding her upright as she regained her balance.  
  
'Forgive me, my lady, I did not mean to startle you.'  
  
She gazed up at him, pushing away gently.  
  
'I was lost in my own thoughts, my lord,' she explained, hoping he wouldn't want to know what she'd been thinking of. 'I should have been paying more attention to my surroundings.'  
  
Legolas' eyes softened, and a fond smile played about his lips as he stepped away from her.  
  
'I saw you leave, and wondered if, perhaps, you were unwell?' he asked, his expression concerned. Aniarel shook her head, forcing herself not to stare at him. She gazed at the water instead.  
  
'I am not unwell, my lord. It is simply too much for me to take in, in one day. To meet the Fellowship is an honour I would never have thought would be granted to me, and to be betrothed to you . . . it is all a little frightening.'  
  
She smiled shyly at him, before turning away again.  
  
'I only learnt of my true heritage four days ago,' she whispered, staring at her reflection. 'Galadriel told me of the threat in the East, and our marriage. My parents were killed by the orcs that came for me . . .'  
  
Her voice trailed off, and Legolas could sense that the pain of her parents' death was still strong. She let out a long shuddering sigh, that betrayed her attempts to keep the tears at bay. He tilted her chin up to face him, noticing the unshed tears glistening in her eyes.  
  
'It is not shameful to be afraid, my lady,' he said softly, stroking her cheek gently. 'We live in a hostile world, one where a careless whisper or foolish step can land you in great trouble. You have not lived among us for nineteen years. I can understand why you would feel overwhelmed.'  
  
He kissed her forehead lightly.  
  
'And I will do everything in my power to help you feel at home here,' he added, his eyes burning into hers.  
  
Aniarel felt her resolve crumble, and her tears began to flow freely. Legolas pulled her into his embrace, feeling her sadness wash over him, as she let out all of the emotion she had kept hidden inside for such a long time. The guilt over her parents' death, the terror of the ordeal the orcs subjected her to, the relief at having been rescued.  
  
Legolas couldn't believe how he ached with each sob that wracked her body. He had only known her a few hours, and yet he could already feel his soul binding with hers, something that was only supposed to happen after the marriage.  
  
Slowly her cries turned to sobs, and her sobs to gasps. Aniarel lifted her head from his chest, smiling apologetically up at him.  
  
'I'm sorry,' she began, but he cut her off.  
  
'There is no need to apologise, my lady,' he told her, stepping away as she tensed slightly.  
  
Aniarel thanked him, and sat down again, her legs suddenly unable to hold her weight. Legolas turned to leave, but she called him back.  
  
'I was wondering, my lord, if now might be a good time for us to get to know each other a little?' she asked, her green eyes guileless.  
  
Moving back to the pool, Legolas sat beside her, feeling ridiculously happy that she wished to speak with him.  
  
'Certainly, my lady.'  
  
'But first, I would ask something of you,' she added, frowning a little as Legolas nodded, readily.  
  
'Anything.'  
  
Aniarel wondered at his willingness to agree. She could be about to tell him to run through Lorien naked for all he knew, and yet he still agreed to do anything for her? Quickly she squashed the mental image she had conjured up, knowing it would distract her.  
  
'I'd like it if you were to call me by my given name, my lord,' she said. 'Somehow, I don't feel comfortable being called my lady.'  
  
Legolas smiled fondly at her.  
  
'Of course, Aniarel,' he said, enjoying the sound as it rolled off his tongue. From the look on her face, she didn't mind the way he said her name, either. 'But only if you will call me by mine.'  
  
Aniarel blinked, looking sharply at her companion. He gazed expectantly down at her, one eyebrow raised sardonically. Shyly, she smiled at him, replying in kind.  
  
'Of course, Legolas.'  
  
As they talked, both were totally unaware of the dark figure in the shadows under the trees, watching them. A satisfied laugh escaped his lips, unheard by the young elves, as he stalked away. 


	5. Battles

The sound of steel on steel rang through the Golden Wood. Thranduil and Legolas danced around each other, their daggers held at the ready. Their companions watched, forming a wide circle around the two. This had come about because Gimli had accused his father of not being able to hold his own in a fight. Gloin had retaliated by challenging his son to a duel, and had proceeded to beat him, hands down. Seeing Legolas laughing at his friend's misfortune, Gimli had declared that he would like to see the elf do better, prompting Thranduil to challenge his own son.  
  
Aniarel gasped quietly as Thranduil rushed Legolas, throwing him to the ground, before springing away, taunting him good-naturedly. Legolas grimaced, and hauled himself to his feet, leaping back, out of the way of a well timed thrust. An appreciative gasp went up from the crowd, as Thranduil leapt over his son, his daggers flashing out towards his unprotected back. Legolas rolled away, springing onto his feet in time to counter another attack from his father.  
  
He felt rather than saw the blade singing through the air towards him, dodging. He hissed in pain as he side-stepped another attack. The blade had cut his arm, deep, along the curve of his shoulder. His father saw the wound, and pounced. Both Legolas' daggers flew from his grasp and he found himself flat on his back, with his father sat on his stomach. His arms were pinned under Thranduil's knees, two daggers pointed at his throat.  
  
'Well?' said his father, grinning down at him. 'Death or surrender?'  
  
'Oh, get off,' Legolas grumbled, a grin on his own face. He had known his father would beat him, he always did. Thranduil laughed and pulled his son to his feet, brushing the bracken away from the wound. Their friends gathered around them, congratulating Thranduil, and exclaiming over Legolas' injury.  
  
He shrugged it off, ignoring the burning pain that told him there was still some bracken in the gash. Aniarel smiled up at him, her shyness gone since they had spent the past two nights talking about anything and everything. They had told each other of their childhoods, sharing embarrassing stories, and tales of old friends. Her eyes went immediately to the blood soaked tunic, widening in shock when she saw the extent of the wound. He tried to stop her from examining it, then wondered why. She knew he'd been hurt, why was he trying to hide it?  
  
With a quick word to Galadriel, Aniarel drew him off to his chamber, determined to clean and dress the wound. She pushed him down onto the bed, and hurried off again, in search of clean water and bandages. When she returned, Legolas was trying to remove his tunic, and failing miserably.  
  
'Stop that,' she scolded gently. 'Let me.'  
  
He yielded to her gentle touch, as she peeled the fabric from the gash. Wincing, he allowed her to pull the tunic over his shoulders, followed by his shirt. Aniarel averted her eyes from his naked skin, blushing crimson, and reached for a cloth. Legolas watched her, as she gently cleaned his shoulder, carefully pulling pieces of blood stained bracken from the open wound.  
  
Her face was serene, green eyes lighting up as she looked at his face, finding his eyes on her. She placed a pad on the now clean cut, and wound a strip of linen about his shoulder, fixing it in place. As she finished, Legolas caught her hands, and pulled her around to face him, his nose almost touching hers as he stood.  
  
'Thank you,' he said softly, as Aniarel gazed up at him. Her cheeks flushed again, and smiling a little self-consciously, she slipped past him to replace the dressings in a drawer, feeling his eyes on her back.  
  
When she turned back, she found him standing close behind her, looking down into her eyes with a expression of such affection, she found she couldn't look away. Legolas bent his head, and brushed his lips against hers, feeling her sigh and lean into him. He wrapped his arms about her waist, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss. Aniarel's hands ventured up to rest against his bare chest, as she lost herself in her first kiss. Legolas drew back a little, looking deep into her eyes, as she gazed at him in wonder.  
  
'Aniarel,' he whispered, kissing her brow. 'Melamin [my love].'  
  
Aniarel sighed with pleasure, feeling all her doubts disappear. He loved her! Galadriel had been right. The girl reached up and stroked his cheek, laughing quietly, as he turned his head to kiss her palm, refusing to let go of her tiny frame. As he bent to kiss her again, they heard a shout from outside the door.  
  
'Legolas! Are you in there?'  
  
Legolas cursed under his breath, as Aniarel slipped from his grasp to stand beside the door, so it would conceal her when it was opened.  
  
'Yes, father, I'm in,' he replied, ignoring her quiet giggle. Thranduil strode in, leaving the door wide open. He clasped his son's good shoulder.  
  
'I didn't realise I'd hurt you all that badly, boy,' he said, seeing the neat bandage over the injury. 'Who bound it?'  
  
'Aniarel,' Legolas replied, rummaging around in one of the draws for another shirt and tunic. His father helped him into the shirt, tying it up for him.  
  
'Where is she now?' he asked. Legolas swallowed the laugh that threatened to burst out as she slipped out through the open door, blowing him a kiss as she went.  
  
'About,' he managed, before his father turned to see what was so funny.  
  
Thranduil closed the door, and turned back to his son, who had, by now, composed his features into something approaching innocence.  
  
'What happened?' he asked warily, aware that Legolas had a new light in his eyes.  
  
His son shrugged and pulled the tunic on, fastening his belt about his waist.  
  
'She brought me here and bound the wound,' he said, matter-of-factly.  
  
Thranduil's blue eyes narrowed, twinkling with amusement.  
  
'And?'  
  
Legolas grinned suddenly. Thranduil laughed, and embraced his son, pulling him back down to their friends. Looking around, Legolas saw Aniarel some distance away, speaking with the women. She looked up and sent him a sweet smile, before Galadriel drew her away from the others. Legolas was jolted back into reality by Gimli clapping him on the back, as they walked off with Haldir to join the day's hunting party.  
  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
  
That night, there was an attack on one of the patrols on the borders of Lothlorien. Their bodies were found at midnight by their relief, who raised the alarm. But by then, of course, the orcs were already within the Elves' Sanctuary, dark shapes among the shadows. They crept up the steps of the Great Tree, searching for Aniarel. Thranduil and his son had joined one of the parties who sought the orcs, their friends making up numbers in the others. They ran through the trees, their senses sharp. A shrill scream cut through the mist-shrouded darkness.  
  
  
  
Before its echoes had begun to die away, Legolas was running, his father and their group trailing behind.  
  
'Aniarel!'  
  
They reached the base of the Tree, already firing arrows into the mass of orcs who stood there, preventing anyone from passing. Legolas' fingers flew, from his quiver to his bow, sending a stream of arrows into the orcs. He vaguely heard others join the fight, most notably Gimli and Gloin, who ran through the ranks of the orcs, hacking at the dark bodies around them.  
  
Looking up, Legolas saw a small figure with long dark hair run swiftly from one of the doorways, up the steps towards the Lady's chamber. Just as he thought Aniarel might make it, a tall dark shape stepped out of the shadows, grasping her about the waist and lifting her off the ground. Straining his sharp eyes, he could just about see her plant a kick between the orc's legs, causing it to howl in pain. It threw the girl against the wall in anger, her body crumpling to the floor.  
  
Legolas cried out in fury. Drawing his daggers, he entered the fight, others with him, as they fought their way to the Tree's defence. Seeing a gap, he ran through it, dodging the blows that rained in from either side. Reaching the steps, he raced up them, hoping that he wasn't too late.  
  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
  
Aniarel woke, with the sudden feeling that she had to get to Legolas. Something was wrong. Sitting up, she reached for her dressing gown, a pale blue sleeveless night-coat. She climbed out of bed, hearing the sounds of fighting, and shouts and curses in a language she feared she had heard before. Opening the door a crack, she swallowed the gasp that came to her throat. Four orcs were standing on the stairs outside, arguing. Her mind raced. How had orcs penetrated the Elves' Sanctuary? There was no question of what they wanted; her. She couldn't get to Legolas with those orcs standing guard. The only other person she could think of was Galadriel.  
  
Remembering something Coeil had told her about secrets for times of danger, Aniarel closed the door quietly and stole over to her mirror. It was stood against the wall, the decorative moulding set in silver. Coeil had told her that a piece of the moulding slid out, and if she pushed the mirror, she could get into a hiding place. Feverishly, she ran her fingers along the edges of the mirror, the starlight casting a ghostly light over her reflection. She could hear the orcs getting closer. Any moment now, they would open the door. Her fingers hit the catch, and the mirror swung inwards a little. Aniarel slipped into the dark space, pushing the mirror back behind her, just as the orcs burst through the door.  
  
Waiting in the cramped space, Aniarel was shocked to find that she could now understand their language. They were tearing the room apart, as if she would be hidden under the bed again.  
  
'Her scent is everywhere in this room,' one said, frighteningly close to her.  
  
'So she should be here,' another growled, from over by the bed. There was a crash from the other side of the room.  
  
'Get out of there,' a harsh guttural voice, that could only belong to their leader, demanded. 'I have not smelt her anywhere but here, but she is nowhere to be found. You!'  
  
He shouted so loudly, Aniarel jumped, hitting her head off the top of the tiny hole with a thump. Thankfully the orcs didn't notice.  
  
'Stay here, and wait for her,' the leader continued. 'She may be hiding somewhere we haven't looked. The others will keep the archers at bay. You two, with me!'  
  
She heard three sets of footsteps leave the room, and a creak that suggested the fourth orc had sat down to wait for her.  
  
Aniarel wished she knew how to fight. She wasn't about to risk her life to find out if that was in her memory as well. She wondered how she was ever going to get out of this. Suddenly she heard Galadriel's voice, as clear as if she was standing beside her.  
  
'Get out, Aniarel, quickly.'  
  
Aniarel gasped, forgetting for a moment there was an orc on the other side of the mirror.  
  
Glass shattered suddenly and the wooden back of the mirror splintered. The orc punched through the mirror again, and grasped a handful of Aniarel's hair. Deja vu struck her, as memories of being dragged from under her bed by her hair swept into her mind. Aniarel screamed in pain, loud enough to wake the dead, as the orc pulled. She grasped the moulding on the mirror as she was pulled out, and an entire edge came off in her hand. It was surprisingly heavy.  
  
The orc held her up to his eye level, and roared in her face. She hit him with the silver moulding, hard. The orc staggered a little, but kept his hold on her, so she hit him again. This time he let go, his eyes slightly unfocussed. She raised her weapon one last time, and he fell to the floor with a loud thud.  
  
Aniarel dropped her weapon, rubbing her sore head. Briefly, she wondered whether Legolas was okay, before stealing over to the door, and peering out. Two orcs were coming up the stairwell. She picked up the key to the door, standing just beside it, as she waited for them. The door crashed open, almost hitting her, as the orcs ran in. Aniarel slipped out, and shut the door behind her, locking her unwelcome guests in. She could hear them arguing as she ran up the steps, ducking into a darkened doorway as heavy footsteps came thumping down towards her.  
  
Two more orcs ran past, paying little attention to their surroundings. Aniarel could see Galadriel's door from where she was hidden, and yet was certain that there was another orc about, the leader, perhaps. Sounds from below her drew her attention to the base of the Tree, where elves and orcs were engaged in a furious battle. Peering down into the gloom, she could just make out the dwarves and hobbits, fighting side by side with the elves.  
  
A crash from her own chamber made her jump, and press herself further back into the shadows. The orcs had broken themselves out of the room, and were carrying their stunned companion back downstairs. It was now or never, she thought, bracing herself for the run to the Lady's chamber.  
  
Aniarel drew in a deep breath, and broke cover, racing up the steps to her haven. Just when she was only a few feet away, a strong gnarled arm grasped her around the waist and lifted her off the ground. The orc leader turned her around in his arms, grinning in triumph. She almost fainted away from the smell of him, he was so rank. Her feet dangled inches off the floor, giving her leverage to kick him as hard as she could in his vitals. The orc howled in pain, and threw her against the wall, her head slamming hard against the ancient wood. As she crumpled onto the steps, she was aware of Legolas' voice inside her head,  
  
'I'm coming, melamin, hold on.'  
  
If only she could. Shaking her head to clear the fog, Aniarel saw the orc advance on her, his face twisted in a hideous grin. His fingers flexed as he leant down, grasping her about her throat, and lifting her off her feet. She clutched at his arm, unable to breathe. Again her feet were inches from the floor, but this time she had no strength to kick him, concentrating instead on breathing. Galadriel's door burst open, and four orcs flew across the stairs, over the edge, and down into the darkness below. Celeborn and Galadriel stepped out, stopping as the orc leader swung his captive towards them.  
  
'If you want her to live, you'll stop right there, witchwoman,' he said. Celeborn took a step forward involuntarily, and the orc's grip tightened, just short of breaking Aniarel's neck. Her face was red, rapidly becoming purple, and she was gasping for air. Spots danced before her eyes, as she felt herself losing consciousness. Suddenly an arrow caught the orc in the shoulder, making him drop her in pain. He turned with a howl of fury. Another hit him in the forehead, as Legolas ran up the steps to cradle Aniarel in his arms.  
  
She pushed him away, gasping in huge breaths, and threw up. Galadriel pushed a small phial into Legolas' hands, and ran, with her husband, to join the fight. Aniarel began to sob with relief, clutching his arms as he held her. He persuaded her to drink some of the potion in the phial, which calmed her and allowed her to regain her normal breathing rate. She gazed up at him with terrified eyes, and he enfolded her into a tight embrace, feeling her arms snake about his waist.  
  
Gradually the noise from below quieted, and they made their way down the steps to see how many were wounded. When they came into sight, a weak cheer went up from the elves, glad to see the girl safe, but too exhausted to be very enthusiastic. There were bodies everywhere, though there were many more orc than elf among the dead. Aniarel caught sight of a familiar face under a wealth of golden blonde hair, and with a cry, ran to her friend, slipping from under Legolas' arm.  
  
Coeil had an arrow protruding from her stomach, her tunic covered with blood. She smiled weakly up at Aniarel from a white face, her lips pressed together tightly. She was propped up against a tree, out of the way, no doubt where she'd crawled to when she'd been injured. Her breathing was laboured as she struggled to endure the pain. Legolas took one look, and called for help, pulling Aniarel gently away as Coeil was carried carefully to the elven infirmary.  
  
When the death toll was counted, they discovered that only six elves had actually died in the attack, on top of the murdered patrol, and while a fair few were injured, the healers had high hopes. The border guard was doubled, and guards set around the Great Tree. Galadriel arranged for all her guests to be quartered in the Great Tree, not wishing for any of them to be murdered in their sleep. Aniarel was given a new chamber while the old one was sorted out, strangely enough opposite Legolas' chamber. She never gave it a second thought, all her energy bent on getting Coeil well again. 


	6. Lost

Aniarel hurried along the woodland trail, trying to keep the smile from her face. She found Haldir and Legolas speaking in a hushed tone, waiting for news of Coeil. Haldir turned and bowed to her, his features taut with worry.  
  
'How is she, my lady?'  
  
Aniarel avoided Legolas' eyes.  
  
'She is awake, Haldir, and she wishes to speak with you,' she said, watching the play of emotions across his face.  
  
Haldir thanked her, and strode off in the direction of the infirmary. Legolas looked suspiciously at her.  
  
'What are you up to?'  
  
Aniarel smiled and pulled him along with her, following Haldir.  
  
'Come and see.'  
  
When they reached the infirmary, Haldir was kneeling at Coeil's bedside, holding her hand. She was sitting against a bolster, bandaged up, and pale from loss of blood.  
  
'Please, my lord, I had to speak to you,' she was saying when they entered, her voice weak. 'There is something I must tell you before I go.'  
  
Haldir shook his head.  
  
'What are you talking about, my lady?'  
  
Coeil closed her eyes for a moment, resting her head back against the pillows, before continuing.  
  
'Perhaps you are aware, my lord, of the way a friendship can become something more? I greatly fear that my feelings for your lordship are not within the dictates of maidenly propriety, yet I had to make sure you knew before I die.'  
  
Haldir was gazing at her in astonishment. Ymoien, one of the healers who had been speaking with Galadriel near Coeil's bed, came over, to check the bandages.  
  
'Nonsense, girl, you're not going to die,' she chided. 'Although you will be cranky if you don't get your rest.'  
  
Unseen by any of them, Galadriel winked at Aniarel, who covered Legolas' lips with her hand as he tried to demand an explanation.  
  
Coeil smiled indulgently at Ymoien, and shook her head.  
  
'Stop trying to comfort me. I know what an arrow in the stomach means as well as you do.'  
  
Ymoien sighed and beckoned to Galadriel, who came over, composing her features into due concern for her young friend.  
  
'What are you saying, my lady?' Haldir was asking, his grey eyes puzzled.  
  
Coeil seemed to lose patience with him.  
  
'I'm saying I love you!' she snapped, then seemed to regret her hasty words. 'I apologise, my lord. I fear I am nearing the end.'  
  
Galadriel coughed politely.  
  
'I'm afraid Ymoien is quite right, child,' she said, ignoring Coeil's gasp. 'You won't die. Your wound is healing nicely.'  
  
Coeil looked at Haldir in mute horror, burying her face in her hands. Haldir gently pulled them down again, looking her full in the face. She tried to rectify her words.  
  
'Forgive me, my lord, I am delirious, hallucinating . . .'  
  
Her voice trailed off as Haldir kissed her hands gently.  
  
'Coeil,' he was saying softly, 'my Coeil.'  
  
He cupped his hand gently about her cheek, and leant forward, kissing her tenderly.  
  
'We'll talk about this later,' he told her, smiling at her stunned expression. 'Rest now.'  
  
He left then, nodding happily to Legolas and Aniarel who stood by the door. Legolas was trying not to laugh, as Aniarel drew him away.  
  
'You mean, you didn't tell her she was healing, so that she'd pluck up the courage to tell him how she felt?'  
  
'Pretty much, yes,' Aniarel grinned, thankful that her friend was on the mend, and would now have a chance at the happiness she so much deserved.  
  
Legolas wrapped his arms about her, burying his face in her thick curls. She always smelled of fresh cut grass, and spring flowers.  
  
'I shall miss you tomorrow, my Aniarel,' he whispered. She sighed into his chest, she would miss him, too.  
  
The next day was to be the wedding. An elven wedding takes place at midnight, so that the new life together can begin with the new day, and one of the traditions is that the bride and groom do not to see one another until the ceremony itself on the day of the marriage.  
  
Together they wandered down the woodland trails, to the clearing where their friends were entertaining themselves. Today, it seemed that telling stories was the thing. Aniarel caught Legolas' hand as he made his way towards them, stopping him in his tracks. He turned back to her, puzzled.  
  
'Please,' she started, her voice a little unsteady. 'There's something I want to tell you, and I don't know how.'  
  
He looked down at her, wondering why she had reverted to the awkward child again. She tensed when he made to put his arms around her, making him pull back.  
  
'What's wrong?' he asked softly, tilting her chin up towards him.  
  
Aniarel took a deep breath.  
  
'About tomorrow,' she began, and then seemed to change her mind. She tried again. 'Coeil said that you were over five centuries old.'  
  
Legolas smiled down at her.  
  
'Yes, I am,' he answered. 'What are you getting at?'  
  
She smiled uncertainly at him, and turned away.  
  
'I suppose you've had a few lovers in your time, then?'  
  
Legolas frowned, confused.  
  
'A few, yes. But that doesn't mean I don't love you.'  
  
'No, I know that,' she hastened to soothe his temper. 'But, well, I am only nineteen, and I don't have . . . I've never actually . . . I haven't . . .' she stopped abruptly, biting her lip. 'Oh, dear,' she muttered.  
  
Legolas turned her around, bending to look into her clear green eyes.  
  
'You haven't?'  
  
She shook her head, looking terribly guilty for some reason.  
  
'You're the only man who's ever kissed me,' she whispered.  
  
Legolas smiled, and kissed her deeply again, forcing her to relax into the embrace before releasing her. She gazed up at him apprehensively.  
  
'That doesn't matter, melamin,' he told her, grateful to see her relax properly. 'I would never hurt you, you know that, don't you?'  
  
She nodded, smiling in relief.  
  
'And remember,' he added, grinning wickedly, 'I've already seen what you wear in bed.'  
  
Aniarel laughed, throwing her arms around his neck as he swung her about. Lowering her to the ground, he kissed her thoroughly, feeling her respond to him in a way she'd never done before.  
  
When he finally released her, and stood gazing into her eyes, she whispered softly,  
  
'Amin mela lle [I love you].'  
  
His blue eyes widened with joy.  
  
'You do?' he asked, barely able to believe his ears.  
  
She nodded, laughing quietly at his astonished expression. Legolas grinned and pulled her close, shouting across the clearing,  
  
'Father! She loves me!'  
  
A cheer went up from all those gathered in the clearing, as well as Thranduil and his friends, who beckoned them both to come over and join them. Legolas drew her into his circle of friends, watching proudly as they finally accepted her. Thranduil whispered something in Aniarel's ear which made her look at his son speculatively as she blushed crimson. Legolas briefly wondered what his father was up to, before enfolding Aniarel in his arms, revelling in the feel of her body against his.  
  
In the shadows behind the lovers, a harsh voice chuckled to itself. This would be more painful to them than he had ever thought possible. He glanced about, checking the lay of the land, before returning to his camp beyond the borders. No one noticed the dark figure as it slipped away.  
  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
  
Midnight was approaching fast. Aniarel paced about her chamber, to the exasperation of her ladies. She had been bathed, prepared, washed, brushed, dressed, and groomed, and was now anxiously awaiting the hour when she would be joined with her Legolas. Clothed in a gown of deepest green velvet, a silver circlet about her head, she was truly beautiful. Her silver slippers flashed out from under the hem of her gown as she paced about, rubbing her hands together.  
  
Gherai touched the frightened elf gently on the shoulder, and she turned to greet Elrond, who had come to collect her.  
  
'Uuma dela [don't worry],' he smiled at her, 'vanimle sila tiri [your beauty shines bright].'  
  
Aniarel blushed at the compliment, and took his hand as he led her to the clearing where, only days before, she had stated her promise to wed this very night. She gathered around her the shreds of her composure, trying very hard to forget certain conversations held with the married women she had befriended over the past week or so. As they entered the circle of those gathered, Legolas winked at her, almost sending her into fits of giggles. Briefly she wondered who the dark-skinned elf standing at his shoulder was, but dismissed the thought as irrelevant. Legolas took her hands, kissing her palms as a sign of his love. Shaking a little, she did the same for him, returning his gentle smile.  
  
The circle opened once again, and Celeborn and Galadriel stepped into the light. But instead of beginning the ceremony, Galadriel stopped suddenly, her face whitening with shock.  
  
'You!' she hissed at the dark elf, who stood behind the lovers. The guests looked puzzled at her outburst.  
  
Legolas looked at Aniarel, but she was staring fearfully at an empty space behind him. The dark elf smiled, and bowed to the two women, the only ones who could see him clothed as he was in darkness.  
  
'Yes, sister, it is me,' he said pleasantly. 'And I have come to repay a lesson you once taught me about the nature of grief.'  
  
He raised a small glass phial, uncorking it. A foul stench rose from the vessel, as it's acrid smoke blocked Galadriel's path to them. Galadriel stepped forward into it, a hand outstretched, choking on the substance, but too late. Within a moment, Legolas found himself punched hard by invisible hands, which pulled Aniarel from his grasp. As those gathered watched in horror, she disappeared, and Galadriel collapsed, crying out in pain. 


	7. Pain

The dark elf marched Aniarel out from under her friend's noses, holding her arms tightly by her sides. He ignored her pleas for him to let her go, walking past the border guards as calmly as anyone. Once they'd reached the border, he let go of her, waving his hands in a complex pattern, and muttering under his breath. She saw the air in front of him shimmer a sickly green colour for a moment, before he grasped her arm and pulled her into it, through a portal to his home.  
  
He marched her along a stone walled hallway, to a goblin waiting by a door. The dark elf threw Aniarel inside, ignoring her cries of pain, and closed the door behind her. Through the blackened wood, she heard him say,  
  
'This door is to remain closed until I say otherwise, understand? She is to have no bread, no water. No one goes in, no one comes out.'  
  
'Yes, master.'  
  
She heard the sound of his boots clicking against the stone floor as he strode away, no doubt to decide what to do with her.  
  
Aniarel looked around the gloomy chamber she found herself in. It was freezing. There was a tiny window, high up in the wall opposite the door, giving very little light, but she could just about make out a wooden pallet in one corner, covered with a raggedy blanket. The floor she was sat on was bare stone, without even any rushes put down to warm the tiny room. Slowly she stood up, and pulled off the circlet. As she turned it around in her hands, she felt hot tears slide down her cheeks.  
  
She thought of Thranduil, and all her friends, and how worried they would be. She hoped Galadriel would recover from whatever the dark elf had done to her. The tears flowed freely as she thought of Legolas. He wouldn't know what to do, what had happened. All he would know was that she had disappeared from his side as they were about to make their vows to each other. Aniarel lay, shivering, on the wooden pallet, clutching her robes about her, and sobbed for what might have been.  
  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
  
Legolas rubbed his jaw, wincing in pain. Predictably enough, once Galadriel had been seen to, the elves had split into search parties, scouring the forest and its borders for any sign of Aniarel. He had not been allowed to go, his father instead taking him to his chamber, and plying him with elven wine judiciously dosed with a sleeping draught. When he'd woken this morning, his friends had been gathered around Galadriel's Mirror, looking exhausted and down hearted.  
  
Galadriel had insisted on showing them what had happened, despite not having regained her strength. The smoke had drawn her power out of her, allowing the dark elf to open his portal and escape. She stood by the Mirror, looking pale and weak, supported by Celeborn.  
  
As they bent over the water, images formed that they all recognised. Legolas and Aniarel stood in the centre of the circle of friends, but now all could see the dark elf behind them. They watched in horror as he attacked Galadriel and Legolas, tearing Aniarel from his grasp. The scene shifted to just outside the borders, where the dark elf pulled his frightened captive through a glowing portal. Again the scene changed to a tiny dank cell. Legolas felt his heart wrench as he recognised the sobbing figure as his Aniarel. Tears filled his own eyes, and he felt an overwhelming urge to hit something. The Mirror darkened, returned to water, as Galadriel released the power she held.  
  
She looked at Legolas, knowing that if they did not find a way to return Aniarel to him soon, both of them would die from the grief of what might have been.  
  
'She is in the old fort in the White Mountains,' she told them, seeing the hope of a rescue planted in their hearts. 'It is vital that I go with you.'  
  
Celeborn looked shocked at this.  
  
'But why, Galadriel?'  
  
'The dark elf who took Aniarel is my brother, Galadriorn,' she said, sadly. A gasp went up from the group around them. 'He holds the same kind of power I do. I am the only one who can defeat him.'  
  
'Why?' Legolas' voice cut through the shocked silence. 'Why has he done this?'  
  
Galadriel looked sad and regretful.  
  
'Many years ago, he fell in love with a human girl. They were very happy together, but her father had married her off to a lord of Dunland. Galadriorn wanted to take her back by force, so I had him imprisoned here to prevent unnecessary deaths. When I finally let him go, she had fallen for her husband and would never have gone with my brother. The grief almost destroyed him, but instead of fading, he became twisted and bitter, spending centuries plotting revenge against me for my hasty actions. When Aniarel was born, the stars told us that she would be much loved by all, and that is why Galadriorn has attacked her. He will let her die from the grief of losing those she loves, knowing that her death will cause pain throughout our world.'  
  
There was silence as this sank in. Then Gimli spoke up.  
  
'If we're to be rescuing, shouldn't we get some rest first?'  
  
Gloin clapped him about the head with a metallic clonk, frowning disapprovingly. Celeborn looked at his wife, who smiled gently, and nodded to the offended dwarf.  
  
'Yes, Gimli, we should. We shall leave at first light tomorrow.'  
  
As the group wandered away, anxious to get to their beds, Legolas stormed down the trails, his mind black with fury. He reached a secluded spot, and slammed his fist against the nearest tree. It shook, ever so slightly. He pounded against the tree, until his fists were bloodied and bruised.  
  
Sighing with the effort of controlling his temper, Legolas looked around the small clearing he'd found, feeling his heart sink to new depths of despair. He had stormed straight to the waterfall where he'd first plucked up the courage to speak to her. As he gazed around, he could almost hear those first few words.  
  
'I'd like it if you were to call me by my given name, my lord. Somehow, I don't feel comfortable being called my lady.'  
  
'Of course, Aniarel. But only if you will call me by mine.'  
  
'Of course, Legolas.'  
  
His eyes clouded over, remembering the shy way she had smiled up at him from under her wealth of dark curls. More memories poured in, of them laughing together, sharing moments from their lives, dancing. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he remembered the duel, and the way she had dressed his wound, how she'd responded to him when he'd kissed her. His heart gave a painful wrench as, unbidden, the vision of her looking trustingly into his eyes and telling him she loved him rose before the distraught elf. He sank to his knees beside the pool, and gave in to the tears.  
  
'Aniarel,' he whispered. 'I'll come for you, I promise.' 


	8. Despair

Aniarel woke suddenly. There were noises coming from the door. Her head ached from having cried herself to sleep, even though she had heard Legolas call to her. Slowly, as if whoever was doing it was trying to be quiet, the bolts were drawn back, and the old wood swung in a little way. A small goblin poked his head around the door.  
  
'Lady?' he lisped softly.  
  
She gave no reply, wondering what he was up to. As she watched, he shuffled into the cell, carrying something wrapped in cloth.  
  
'I bring something for you,' he called, peering through the darkness. 'Lady?'  
  
Aniarel sat up, and the goblin limped over to her, smiling anxiously. He offered her the cloth covered parcel. She eyed it suspiciously.  
  
'What is it?'  
  
The goblin shushed her, and glanced towards the open door.  
  
'Food, lady,' he whispered.  
  
'I thought I wasn't to be given anything,' Aniarel said softly, curious as to why the creature was disobeying his master.  
  
'Master say no bread, no water,' the goblin told her, grinning suddenly.  
  
He pushed the parcel into her hands, and shuffled out quickly, shutting the door as quietly as he could. Aniarel unwrapped the cloth, and found a large slice of pound cake, and half a bottle of Gondor wine. In astonishment, she looked up, hoping to thank him before he left, but the bolts were already being drawn back into place. Left alone in the darkness once again, Aniarel ate her forbidden feast, wondering, for the hundredth time, how her friends were faring.  
  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
  
In the darkness, just beyond the light from their campfire, Galadriel knelt beside Legolas, her hands at his temples. His face was white, and his eyes haunted. Aragorn beckoned Gimli over to him.  
  
'How long has he been like this?'  
  
The dwarf snorted.  
  
'He's been slipping into it since Aniarel was taken,' he replied, his tone revealing his fear for his friend. 'Galadriel says the same will be happening to her as well. It's spreading, too.'  
  
It was. The Lorien elves who had joined them on the quest were all beginning to look pale and drawn, feeling the imminent loss of a well loved friend. Arwen joined them, her face sombre.  
  
'He is grieving for her, and she for him.'  
  
Aragorn looked at his wife, confused.  
  
'I have never seen grief take anyone like this before, Arwen. Are you sure?'  
  
She nodded sadly.  
  
'Elves may be immortal, but we can still die,' she told them. 'From injuries inflicted in battle, or from grief.'  
  
Gimli gasped, horrified. He looked over at the stricken elf, who had revived somewhat under Galadriel's care.  
  
'You mean, if we're too late, they'll both die?' he asked, his voice hushed.  
  
Arwen nodded.  
  
'And probably Thranduil too,' she added, looking over at the elven king. His usual cheerful smile had been replaced with a worried frown as he hovered over his son. He helped Galadriel lay Legolas down in his blankets, and sat beside him, obviously intending to keep a vigil by his side.  
  
The Lady came over to the watchful group.  
  
'I have given him a draught that will help him sleep, but there is little I can do to get him through this. He doesn't seem to want to rest or sleep. His every thought is bent on Aniarel, and where she must be,' she said wearily, sitting down by the fire.  
  
Frodo handed her a plateful of the stew Sam had made, and Merry and Pippin arranged her blankets around her. The hobbits had been waiting on Galadriel and Legolas, hoping to restore some of their strength. When she had finished eating, she sighed sadly, and looked around at the worried faces.  
  
'We have to reach the fort soon,' she told them firmly. 'I can keep Legolas alive as long as I need to, but Aniarel has no one to help her cope. We must get him to her as fast as we can.'  
  
Celeborn wrapped an arm about his wife, letting her head rest on his shoulder. The others drifted away to their blankets, casting anxious glances over at her and at Legolas' recumbent form.  
  
Galadriel sighed, and allowed a tear to fall from her eye.  
  
'She is dying, Celeborn. I can feel her essence fading.'  
  
Celeborn held her tighter, knowing how much the young girl meant to Galadriel.  
  
'We will find her, melamin. They will live, I promise you.'  
  
Galadriel smiled weakly, and nestled against him, hoping that he was right.  
  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
  
'Lady?'  
  
The goblin shook Aniarel's shoulder gently, worry etched on his knobbly face. She slept for most of each day and was becoming harder and harder to wake when he brought her food, against his master's orders. The little elf sighed in her sleep and turned over, an expression of deep sorrow on her slumbering face. The goblin shook her harder, not wanting to hurt her, but frightened that she wasn't waking.  
  
'Lady, you must wake up,' he pleaded, shaking her violently now, her body rocking back and forth against the wooden pallet. Still there was no answering yawn, or the smile she usually wore when he visited. He pulled her hand out from under the blanket and slapped it hard, looking hopefully at her face. No response. He stood silently, lost in thought for a moment, then scurried out of the cell. Within minutes he was back, holding a large handful of snow. He pressed it against her face.  
  
With a shriek, Aniarel sat bolt upright, gasping in shock. The little goblin grinned with relief, rocking back and forth on his heels. She glared at him, wiping the water from her cheeks.  
  
'What was that for?' she demanded.  
  
'Lady wouldn't wake up, Graac didn't know what to do,' the goblin defended himself.  
  
Aniarel frowned, more than a little worried herself.  
  
'I wouldn't wake up again, hmm? Well then, thank you, Graac, I'm sorry I snapped.'  
  
Graac grinned, and pushed her meal into her hands, taking with him the remains of yesterday's food. He sent one last anxious glance at her, and shut the door behind him, pushing the bolts back quietly. Aniarel sipped the cordial from the bottle, her own expression one of anxiety. What was wrong with her? All she seemed to want to do was sleep. It was that or cry. Whenever she was awake for more than a few minutes, her thoughts invariably turned to Legolas, and how her heart ached for him. Then the tears would come, and she would cry until there were no more tears to come. The sleeping in itself wasn't a problem; it was how difficult Graac was finding it to wake her recently.  
  
She felt tight, like a guitar string, but brittle with it, as if she would break if someone ventured to play. Her heart was a cold stone in her chest, getting heavier with each passing day. How long had she been here? Aniarel counted back the days. Just over a month, she realised, with no company but that of her jailer, who had informed her that the master simply wished for her to die. Graac had decided that no one, not even an elf, deserved to die like that, which was why he had been feeding her each day. He wanted to get her out of her prison, but the opportunity had not arisen at all. The fort was guarded too closely, he said.  
  
Aniarel brushed the crumbs from her tunic. That was another of Graac's ideas. He had stolen a complete set of clothing from somewhere, and given it to her, since her gown had been made for the warm climate of Lorien, not the snow covered peaks of the White Mountains. She had found in the bundle a shirt, tunic, and trews, complete with a belt. Graac had carefully measured her feet, and a few days later had produced knee-high fur-lined boots, that were a perfect fit. He had taken the gown and slippers away, having discovered that the sight of them made her weep harder.  
  
She had grown quite fond of the little goblin, giving him the silver circlet as a thank you for his help. Everything he did was to make her more comfortable, or happier, although the latter never seemed to work. When she told him what his master had done, he'd been outraged, jumping up and down with his hand over his mouth to prevent anyone from hearing. That had been when the clothing had arrived. He was currently trying to find her a weapon she could use, despite her protestations that she wouldn't know what to do with it.  
  
Aniarel finished the meat pasty, and lay down again, wanting to fight off the sleep that was threatening to consume her, but finding herself unable to. Slowly her eyes closed, and the world once again grew black. 


	9. Hope

The elves crouched in the snow, feeling cold and exposed. They were waiting for Aragorn and Legolas to return from scouting the fort. Legolas had picked up a lot since they'd arrived in the White Mountains, except that he never smiled, or laughed. He was intent upon retrieving Aniarel. There was a howl from somewhere nearby. The elves tensed, their eyes darting towards the source of the sound, hands reaching for their weapons. A wolf padded through the snow, ignoring them. They relaxed, laughing a little self- consciously. It would be a long afternoon.  
  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
  
'Are you sure?'  
  
Aragorn stood against one of the forts inner walls, Legolas beside him. The elf was gazing intently at a small window set high in one of the tower walls.  
  
'She's in there, Aragorn, I can feel her.'  
  
Aragorn's hand thumped against Legolas' chest, pushing him back into the shadows with an audible thud, as the elf tried to run across the snow to the tower.  
  
'Don't even try it,' he scolded his friend. 'It's too exposed. We'll go back to the camp and tell them what we've found.'  
  
Legolas fumed quietly, feeling his heart reach out to his beloved Aniarel. She had stopped responding when he called to her, a fact which had frightened all his friends as well as himself. Galadriel had tried to strengthen the bond between them, but to no avail. Aniarel was no longer conscious. Aragorn looked deep into his blue eyes, speaking softly,  
  
'Look, if we get captured, it's not going to help her, is it? You're the only one who can find her in here, so the whole purpose of tonight will be to get you in and out alive, understand?'  
  
Legolas nodded, seeing the sense in Aragorn's plan. As much as he wanted Aniarel in his arms again, it wouldn't do them much good if they were both locked away in that tower cell. He and Aragorn slipped away, back out the way they'd come. 


	10. Found

The patrol of orcs didn't know what had hit them. Figures shot out of the shadows, attacking with swords, daggers, and axes. Within minutes the orcs lay dead, with no one the wiser. The group moved on, huddled protectively around Galadriel, who stole along with them, her eyes burning bright.  
  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
  
  
In the solar at the very top of the highest tower, Galadriorn fell to his knees, sharp pain permeating his conscious thoughts. The orc guards looked at one another, uneasy. The master never showed any pain. His hands were pressed to his temples, his breathing ragged.  
  
Suddenly he looked up, the pain gone. Standing, he sent out a probing thought, encountering the minds of his orcs, and the minds of elves, dwarves, and men. He smiled grimly.  
  
Turning to the orcs, he barked a command.  
  
'Take some men and kill the she-elf. Bring her body to me.'  
  
The orcs bowed stiffly and marched out, leaving him alone. He gazed out over the silent fort. A scuffle broke out by one of the gates, as the elves struggled to gain entry. The alarm was raised, and dark shapes poured into the courtyard, weapons at the ready.  
  
'So, my sister,' he whispered viciously. 'You think you can get to me, do you? Think you can defeat me?'  
  
'Yes, Galadriorn, I do.'  
  
He spun around, as Galadriel stepped out from the shadows, flanked by Celeborn and Elrond. A cruel laugh escaped his lips.  
  
'What's this?' he mocked. 'The great Galadriel too afraid to face me alone?'  
  
Celeborn growled angrily, but Elrond put out a hand to stop him.  
  
'We are here to see you don't have any help,' Elrond said, and, drawing their weapons, the two elves left the room, taking up positions either side of the door.  
  
Brother and sister faced each other across the empty room.  
  
'And so it begins, Galadriel,' he hissed, drawing in his power. 'If you had allowed me to take what was mine, we would not now be preparing to fight one another.'  
  
Galadriel drew in her own power to match that of her brother's.  
  
'I could not allow you to shed innocent blood, Galadriorn. It would have destroyed all we had been working towards.'  
  
'And me? Was it right for you to destroy me while protecting those ingrates who call themselves Men? I am your brother, Galadriel! And you have cast me aside!'  
  
She sighed regretfully.  
  
'No, Galadriorn. My brother died a long time ago.'  
  
With a howl of fury, he released his pent up energy, lashing it out at her. A wall of golden light surrounded the Lady of the Wood, blocking his attack. The light grew brighter, expanding until it filled the room. Galadriorn backed away, throwing weaker and weaker attacks at the soft light that was his sister, realising only then that he could never have hoped to defeat her.  
  
Tears were pouring down Galadriel's cheeks. The blow, when it came, lifted Galadriorn clear off his feet, throwing him across the room. He clung for a moment to the window frame, before being swept off. His body fell to the ground, his soul having long since fled.  
  
The light slowly dimmed, and diminished, revealing Galadriel crumpled on the floor, sobbing.  
  
  
  
*~*~*  
  
Aragorn and Gimli ran down the dark passageways, after Legolas. The elf knew exactly where he was going, following his heart. Loud grunts and crashes were coming from the next passage, and as they rounded a corner, they came across six orcs trying to break down a door. Aragorn barely saw Legolas move. The elf drew his daggers and rushed the orcs, his friends close behind.  
  
As they fought, Aragorn spied a small goblin huddled in the corner, holding what looked like the key to the cell. He cut down the orcs trying to hold him back, and grabbed the creature, holding him high in the air.  
  
'Is this the key to the lady's cell?' he demanded.  
  
The little goblin nodded, his eyes wide with fear.  
  
'Tried to get lady out, lady not wake, sleeps,' he chattered as his feet hit the floor. He scurried over to the door, ducking as Gimli danced past, his axe flying. More orcs were streaming into the passageway. The little goblin pushed the door open, spreading light over Aniarel's slumbering form.  
  
As Aragorn dodged another flailing sword, Graac hurried over to the sleeping elf, swinging her up into his arms. He hurried back over to them, not seeing the anger in Legolas' eyes at the sight of a goblin touching his love. Gimli got himself between the elf and the goblin, pulling Legolas back down the passage. They fought their way back to the main passage, meeting Galadriel, Celeborn and Elrond on their way out.  
  
Outside the orcs were in disarray, not fighting the elves any longer, but each other. The party from Lorien slipped away, Graac refusing to give up his precious cargo. Legolas strode beside him, seeing for the first time, how gentle the goblin was with her, and the genuine affection in his eyes when he looked at her. And the worry that filled his being, as it filled Legolas' heart. Aniarel had still not woken. 


	11. Awakening

Legolas knelt beside Aniarel, afraid to touch her for fear she might break. Galadriel had told him that only he could wake her, but he didn't know where to begin. It was early, before dawn. He had been sitting in the same place all night, talking softly to the sleeping form. The night watch had given him plenty of space, trying to ignore the quiet pleading and the sobs that wracked his body. The girl sighed in her sleep, and turned over, a single tear leaking out from under her closed eyelids. He couldn't bear to see her unhappy. Before he could stop himself, Legolas leant over and brushed the tear away.  
  
As his hand touched her cheek, she stirred. Legolas stared at his hand, wondering what it was he had done. He touched her hand, resting against her stomach. She made a girlish sound in her throat, turning her head towards him. Gripping her hand gently, Legolas cupped her cheek with his free hand, hope written clearly on his handsome face. Aniarel's eyes fluttered, her fingers squeezed his lightly.  
  
Slowly she woke, gazing about her with wonder. When her eyes came to rest on Legolas, she gave a small cry of joy, sitting up to wrap her arms about him. He held her tight, hardly daring to believe that it had happened. Pulling back slightly, he brushed her hair from her face, gazing into her green eyes. Their tears mingled as she pressed her lips to his, falling into his embrace.  
  
Suddenly a loud voice broke the quiet.  
  
'Lady? Lady is awake!' Graac shouted, waking the others.  
  
Gimli growled at the ecstatic goblin who paid him no mind, glad to see Aniarel awake. Amid the good-natured grumbling and laughing that accompanied their friends' awakening, Galadriel drew Aniarel to her, clearing her mind of the pain she had endured over the past weeks. The girl nestled into her arms, glad to be back among friends. She returned to Legolas' side, wrapping her arm about his waist.  
  
'Look!' Haldir said, pointing to the East. 'The sun is rising.'  
  
As they watched the sun rise, silhouetting the fort that had been her home for so long, Aniarel laid her head against Legolas' chest, hoping that, this time, they would stay together for eternity.  
  
*~*~*  
  
What do you think? Be honest, I'll know if you're lying! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed me, your names escape me but you have kept me on the straight and narrow all the while. I hope you like the ending!  
  
Love to all, Ildera 


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